


Twitter-storm

by aljohnson



Category: Jane Eyre - All Media Types, The Autobiography of Jane Eyre
Genre: Crack, Gen, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grace sees that Edward Rochester has posted something weird on Twitter, she can't rescue the situation, because she's in Europe and he's an idiot.</p>
<p>Inspired by the creators of The Autobiography of Jane Eyre having a bad morning and accidentally posting a tweet and a link to one of Jane's videos on Rochester's Twitter by mistake, this is how Grace might have seen the Tweet, and how she might have reacted.</p>
<p>If, you know, they hadn't subsequently deleted it....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twitter-storm

Grace woke with a start – the shrill beep of the alarm clock function on her Smartphone rousing her from a particularly delicious dream featuring Ricardo, Mr Rochester’s personal chef. Grace was concerned about what her subconscious was doing, but decided to deal with it some other time. Some much, much later other time. 

She picked up the bleeping electronic device and swept her fingers over the surface, silencing the incessant beeps. She looked at the top of the screen – one bar, which flickered intermittently! This was a disaster! 

Grace sat up in bed and called up the Twitter app. It stubbornly refused to refresh, and Grace resigned herself to abandoning the warmth and comfort of the luxurious duvet. Sighing heavily she stood up, finding the B&B’s complimentary toweling gown, which she quickly wrapped around herself to retain some warmth. She grimly moved around the room, holding the phone up frequently, moving it around her, above her head, down to the floor, desperate to try to find a signal. She couldn’t believe that she had managed to book into accommodation without Wi-Fi. There was a brief flicker of two bars of reception as Grace moved towards the balcony door, but the Twitter app continued to refuse to refresh. 

Grace sighed deeply and looked out of the window. She was on the third floor of the building, and it looked freezing out. Grinding her teeth and cursing Edward Rochester, she unlocked the balcony door and emerged out onto the small wooden deck. It was freezing and Grace shivered as the shrill November wind accosted her, whipping through to her bones. She reached her arm out and around and found the sweet spot – four bars! Moving herself as close to the spot as possible, Grace activated the app and awkwardly typed out her message to the world “Staying in a B&B in Dueren. Hometown of chemist Alfred Wilm who mixed cuprum, magnesium and manganese with AL to create duralumin in 1911”. Grace sucked a freezing breath through her teeth – seriously, who was even interested in the Twitter feed of an Aluminum company? Well, 1,109 people were, according to the latest figures – that was a shot across the bow for Mr Rochester. And hey, this was relevant to Thornfield. 

Grace made a mental note not to mention to anyone the town’s excellent spa facilities. She felt bad about taking a few personal days, but was reassured by Mr Rochester having authorized the flight bookings when she had spoken to him about them the previous week. He had seemed distracted though – why did Grace feel so guilty about leaving him on his own? He left her alone to practically run the company, why shouldn’t she take a few days to de-stress. It’d be busy when she got back, no doubt she’d get lumbered with the wedding planning as well as everything else.

Grace quickly checked her Twitter feed – it was too cold to be spending much longer out here. Emily Rufford, the student who had won the Thornfield rebranding competition was discussing, well, who could tell what, with a seemingly never ending stream of friends. Blanche Ingram, who Grace hoped to be able to welcome permanently to Vancouver before the wedding, was posting vague statements and links to something that Grace knew would take far too long to click through to. The nanny person, Jane thingy, was saying absolutely nothing, as per usual – she just didn’t seem to know how to interact with people on social networks. Grace made a note to remind the girl of the need to keep in frequent touch with the wider world via the medium of social communications networks. Grace was sure that Jane would appreciate the assistance. Adele was still obsessed with Slam Poetry, whatever that was – Grace dismissed it as inconsequential. 

Grace’s finger hovered, hesitantly, over the picture of her boss. When had that profile pic changed? She was fairly sure she hadn’t authorized a formal photo shoot, but it looked almost professional, certainly better than the picture of Pilot or the one with his face half obscured that Mr Rochester had insisted on changing it to previously. She was fairly sure she’d seen it before, but she had been so busy with the conference, and so distracted it was hard to be certain. She gulped – you never knew what you were going to get. Sometimes it was almost serious business tweets, sometimes a disturbing window into his soul. A few weeks ago it had been weird tweets to the Nanny Person, which Grace just hadn’t understood at all. Why was he spending time with this girl who would just end up moving on to a better job somewhere else? Well, a less crazy job anyway. There was a reason the pay rate was so good. Last week he had announced to the world that he wouldn’t be in Dusseldorf, which is how Grace had found out. Which she was still unamused about. Changing her schedule at the last minute had been chaotic to say the least, but Mr Rochester had said he wanted to spend more time with Adele, which she couldn’t argue with. 

She pressed the link and saw – what, what was this? It was a link to something, seemingly from YouTube. What were all these hashtags? Was that the Nanny Person’s Twitter handle? Had he spelt the Nanny Person’s name wrong? What, on earth, was going on? Why was YouTube involved? Oh good grief, had Mr Rochester published something on Thornfield’s Channel? Was this going to need rescuing? Again? She felt as if they had just about got away with the last one, although it had received an oddly high number of views. Grace had no idea what she was going to have to deal with, but was there any chance that the poor signal would let her view whatever it was? Grace winced at her own weakness. She didn’t want to watch, she didn’t want to know. She just wanted two more days of rest and relaxation. And dreams of Ricardo. She snapped herself out of her daydream. She went back to her profile page, opened up the ‘update box’ and typed out, “Amazing aluminum history. Horrible internet connection’. She just hoped anyone who saw the tweet would realize that she wasn’t available right now, that they could all just leave her alone for once, that they could deal with their own fires. She closed the app down and returned to the warmth of her room. Just two more days, and then the 13 hour flight home, and then she would deal with whatever mess Mr Rochester had got himself into now.


End file.
